when we fly home to california my dad is the one who picks us up at the oakland airport. on the drive to berkeley we talk about the traffic (of course), how the weather has been, the many potholes in this one stretch of the highway, the changing graffiti on the brick buildings lining another stretch, the warriors (dub nation!) and when we pull up to my childhood home, my dad typically says, “look at the lawn… doesn’t it look nice?” followed by, “how is your lawn?” my father is very lawn proud. he likes an even expanse of pretty, green grass… maybe it’s his great love of golf or his mid-western upbringing, but maintaining the lawn has always been important to him. over the decades (i think my parents have been in their house for forty-three years) he has had very close relationships with the people who help him with the yard: takahooki, alberto, david, daniel and marty. he brings these people special sandwiches or chocolates or the newest kombucha to enjoy as they discuss what to do with the garden.